In a second, the high emotion drained from Tyrone’s face. “You’re his twin? He never told me he had a brother.”
“And yet, here I am.” Duncan tucked his wallet back into his jeans pocket. “Now, who are you?”
“This is Fletcher’s professor,” Marjorie said, her nerves jumping like popcorn in hot oil. “Tyrone Jasper, is that right?”
The man turned to her with eyes that were unfocused and confused.
“I’ve met you before,” Marjorie prompted him. “Although Fletcher whisked you away before we could talk more than bare introductions.”
Tyrone nodded. “You’re the café owner, right? I remember.” He turned back to Duncan, clearing his throat. “Sorry about coming at you like that. I’ve had a few very stressful days, and it’s affecting me more than I thought.” He stepped away. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Wait,” Duncan called out, but the man just waved over his shoulder and got into a nearby car. Marjorie walked a few steps towards him, but he accelerated away from the curb.
“You know him?” Duncan asked as she rejoined him. “Do you know where he lives?”
“No, but with a name that distinctive, he should be easy enough to find in the phone book or online.”
They continued to the supermarket where Marjorie steered him towards every foodstuff he mentioned. After they’d finished and returned to Fletcher’s house, Duncan asked her if she wanted a lift home.
Checking her watch, Marjorie saw it was now after five. Regina should be finished with work, swapping her uniform for civvies and due to head out the back door of the station in just a few minutes. “I’m good. I think I’ll call in on a friend and she’ll sort me out with a ride home.”
Marjorie parted from him with a goodbye wave, hoping Duncan didn’t feel too betrayed by what she was about to do.
Chapter Eight
“I can put a few feelers out,” Regina said, sitting back and breaking a chocolate chip biscuit into bite-size pieces. “With the equipment make and model, we should be able to find something in the records.”
“What if the original owners didn’t report the theft?”
“Don’t worry about that. They need the police case number to file an insurance claim for the loss. Unless they’re made of money, it’ll be on our books somewhere.”
She looked unhappy as she said the words and Marjorie followed the thought home. “But it doesn’t get you any closer to tracking down the original thieves.”
“Exactly. From your description, even the neighbour won’t be at the top of the chain. And I can’t see why he’d do a runner when the equipment’s sitting right there, in his flat.”
Marjorie felt the sting of dejection and when Monkey Business nosed his way into her lap, she welcomed the attention. When she’d caught up with Regina outside the police station, her friend had accepted her offer to drive her to the café. In return, she’d leave with an ample supply of baking. For herself, or to share with workmates if she needed to curry favour.
“From what I can see, you’ve no real reason to worry.” Regina tapped her fingers on the table and frowned out the window at the darkening sky. “Although it seems weird for Fletcher to stay out of contact for a while, there’s no sign of foul play. Even if criminal activity forced him into doing a runner, I doubt anything bad happened.”
“Do people often disappear with no explanation?”
“All the time. Even here, I’ve probably taken one or two missing person reports every week since starting back, and we don’t have a large population. People, especially men, will go walkabout for a while, clearing their head or clouding it with alcohol.”
“But how can someone just pick up and leave like that?” Marjorie pulled her best schoolmistress impression, making Regina laugh.
“They’re not thinking of anyone else is why. Not everyone wears responsibility well.”
“I hope that’s all it is, then.” Marjorie sighed and pressed her finger against the crumbs on her plate, transferring them to her tongue. “I’d much rather be worried because Fletcher’s a thoughtless young man than because anything bad happened to him.”
“Amen to that.”
Chaplin gave up his patrol of the windowsill long enough to jump into Regina’s lap. Once there, he gave a gigantic yawn and padded at her legs before falling asleep.
“Does that mean I have to stay forever?” she asked, winking at Marjorie. “Is this your cunning plan to adopt out all your temporary residents?”
Marjorie held up her hands. “I never force anybody to do anything they don’t want to.” She gave the kitten a closer examination. “The only thing I’m surprised about is him falling asleep when it's near dinner time.”
The ragdoll cracked open one eyelid, staring up with a hopeful expression.
“You little faker,” Regina said, laughing as she picked him up around the middle and placed the kitten back on the floor. “I’d better head off, though I won’t need dinner after those cupcakes.” She patted her stomach with a satisfied grin.
After she’d gone, Marjorie sat and stared down the valley, watching the shadows grow until the streetlights flicked on, all at once, spreading artificial yellow light across the roads. When the section next door was cleared, she’d have the same view from the counter. A treat to look forward to before the noise and bustle of the real build began.
“But that’s all in the future,” she said to Monkey Business as he sauntered into the café with an expression of deep concern on his face. “Let’s get you all fed.”
The kittens agreed with that idea.
Tuesday morning’s alarm jerked Marjorie out of a dream where she’d abandoned everyone she’d ever known and loved to live a life on the road, carefree of all obligations.
It was a nightmare. The hollow feeling in her stomach continued, despite helping herself to an extra egg with her morning toast.
As she waited for the first round of muffins to rise in the oven, she stole a glance at Esme’s massage studio, wishing her friend was over there right now. She’d love to have a chat and hash through the disturbing situation.
Jerry had given her carte blanche to contact them during their holiday, but Marjorie would never cross that line unless things grew desperate. A break-in or a house fire, sure. She’d get right on the phone. Apart from that, she’d leave them in peace.
Still, it didn’t stop her from imagining a conversation. Even abandoned, Esme’s studio looked warm and inviting.
The oven dinged and by the time Marjorie had a batch of scones inside, browning nicely, the pall had lifted. A quick play with the kittens—just to keep them in top form—buoyed her spirits even further.
It would be a lovely day. She’d put all the nonsense with Fletcher’s disappearance behind her and spend her care on the customers who turned up at the café, not the one who was missing.
With soft music playing in the background, and a treat cupcake adding the spice of naughtiness to her morning, Marjorie brewed a coffee and leaned against the outside wall after placing out her open sign, breathing in the dewy morning air.
“Have I snagged the good table again?” Cecelia asked, getting out of her car.
Marjorie nodded and opened the door for her first client, shooing the kittens away from the inside door before any of them could escape.
A busload of tourists kept her occupied later in the morning. The unexpected arrivals took so many photos, the café resembled a disco with strobe lighting.
Although the business was nice, she couldn’t take a full breath until the café emptied out again. The slow pace of her usual workday was something she’d grown used to and, apart from the extra money in her till, Marjorie preferred to keep it that way.
“What’s this kitten’s name?” an elderly woman called out near closing time. She had Chaplin on her lap, though the ragdoll’s eyes were firmly fixed on a blackbird hopping outside the window.
“He’s Chaplin,” Marjorie replied, “because of the…”
She touched her philtrum, where the kitten had a streak of black.
“If I were ten years younger, I’d fill out that application in a shot,” the woman said, her voice cracking with regret. “But even with Nurse Maude lending a hand, I doubt I’ll see the year out in my own place.”
“Do you have a home picked out?” Marjorie asked. “There’s some that have lovely facilities nowadays.”
“Yeah. I’ve got my eye on one or two in my price range.” She leaned over to the side, offering her hand to shake. “My name’s Gwen.”
“Please to meet you, Gwen. I’m Marjorie.”
The woman burst into laughter, shaking her head. “I might be getting doddery but even I can read your signs.”
“Fair enough.”
“What would happen to a kitten if its owner went into an assisted living facility?”
“It depends on the contract, but I think most of them exclude pets. Especially if you’re living in the hospital section. Even if the staff are on board with picking up after animals, there’ll be patients who’re allergic or too delicate for a rambunctious cat.”
“I’d guess that too,” Gwen said, giving Chaplin a final stroke before putting him down on the floor. “It’s a pity there’s not a facility to give pet visits.”
And just like that, Marjorie’s mind dinged with a fresh idea. “I wonder if a retirement home would be happy with someone popping in once or twice a week, taking the kittens away after a few hours of interaction.”
Gwen’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, I wonder too. Is there someone in our community who’d be willing to give a program like that a try?”
As Marjorie counted out the woman’s change, her mind was already clicking through the safety procedures she’d need to ensure were in place. An emergency plan for AWOL kittens at the end of visits. A form to be completed by residents to make sure no one ended up with an asthma attack from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
So many studies had shown that interaction with animals helped the elderly to live stronger, better lives. It wouldn’t take much persuading for a facility director to have their arm twisted into giving such a scheme a trial run.
“Let me know if you set it up,” Gwen said, reading her mind. “If there’s a home who doesn’t mind having kittens to visit, they’ll get my vote.”
Marjorie had jotted down a few ideas when the bell above the door tinkled. Right on the dot of closing. She looked up with concern, wondering if it was possible to just tell the customer she’d missed out, but the young redheaded woman standing in front of her seemed too distressed to try out the option.
“What’d you want to try?” she asked instead, apparently flummoxing the new arrival.
“My name’s Vicky Wendall,” the young woman said instead of naming food or selecting a coffee. “When I went to the police station today, I overheard your name being mentioned and thought you might help.”
“Take a seat, love,” Marjorie said, noticing the woman was swaying back and forth. While she ran around the counter, Vicky collapsed into a chair. “What is it you think I can help you with?”
“Fletcher Bryne. I heard a policewoman say you’d reported him missing.”
“I did, although I’m surprised someone told you that.”
“Nobody told me,” Vicky said with a vague hand flap. “I just eavesdropped. My ears picked up on it because I’d gone to the police station to do exactly the same thing.” She straightened in her chair, her green eyes staring straight into Marjorie’s. “You see, I’m Fletcher’s girlfriend and I haven’t seen or heard from him in nearly a week.”
Chapter Nine
Marjorie’s eyes dropped to the floor while her mind spun in circles. Did Adelaide know about this woman? Monkey Business padded over and demanded attention, giving her the perfect excuse to sit down and pull him into her lap. He always sensed when she needed company.
“You know Fletcher, don’t you?” Vicky asked, her brow crinkling in concern. “Or did I get that wrong?”
“No, you’re right. I know Fletcher and I’m the one who reported him missing. Sorry for seeming vacant. I was just about to close when you walked in.”
“Oh. I’ll go.” The young woman sprang to her feet like a jack-in-the-box with a brand-new spring. All traces of her earlier unsteadiness were gone. “I didn’t think.”
“Sit down, Vicky. You’re fine. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. What did you want to know about Fletcher?”
“Well, I guess what you’ve told the police. Why did you think you should report him?”
The question struck a false note with Marjorie, but she didn’t see the harm in answering. It briefly flashed across her mind that Vicky might be a journalist, digging around for a story. In which case, she’d soon find herself out of luck.
“I guess for the same reason you went down there today. He hadn’t been in for a few days and when I visited his house, I got worried.”
“Because of the stuff stored in his bedroom?”
Marjorie’s eyes jerked up to meet Vicky’s, shocked. “You know about the computers?”
“Sure. I’m his girlfriend, aren’t I? I know about everything he gets himself into.”
“Well, I meant the…” Marjorie trailed off as she remembered she’d decided to file a report after meeting Adelaide. Unable to think of a lie at short notice, she gestured vaguely and fixed her attention back on the Persian in her lap.
“Do you know when he went missing?”
“The last anybody saw of him was Wednesday. How about you?”
“Yeah.” Vicky pulled her phone out and tapped the base on the table. “Same. I’ve sent him a few texts on our special number but got nothing in return.”
“What special number?”
“Hm?” Vicky’s eyes were glazed with memory as she glanced at Marjorie. “Oh, just… Fletcher’s got a second SIM card on his phone and I use that rather than his regular one. That way, he always knows it’s me.”
Oh, dear. Marjorie shook her head as she thought of poor Adelaide, communicating with her boyfriend on a public Facebook page while this young lady sent him messages by stealth.
“You should take the sign in,” Vicky said out of nowhere. When Marjorie raised her eyebrows, not following, the woman nodded to the car park. “I’m not the only one to turn up late.”
With horror, Marjorie saw Duncan pulling up outside, Adelaide sitting in the passenger seat. “I’ll just tell them,” she said, setting Monkey on the floor before she hurried out the door. “What are you two doing here?”
“We wanted someplace to stay where we could talk openly about Fletcher,” Adelaide said, sliding out of the car.
Her eyes were red-rimmed in a face free of makeup. Marjorie guessed the poor girl had learned mascara didn’t team well with emotional turmoil. “I’ve just got a last customer of the day,” she said, fumbling for the magic words to stop the oncoming encounter. “How about I meet you in town later?”
“You don’t mind us stopping by, do you?” Duncan asked. Since the day before, his cheeks had turned sunken, dark circles under his eyes spreading like sad warpaint. “We can leave.”
The dejection in his voice was too much for Marjorie to bear. Just as she hadn’t kept Fletcher’s secret stash of computer equipment to herself, neither should his second girlfriend be something she took on the burden of hiding.
“Don’t be silly,” she said in a chiding tone, giving him a push towards the entrance. “Go on inside. Adelaide, could I have a quick word?”
The woman raised her eyebrows, her mouth trembling. “Has something bad happened?”
Marjorie took her arm and walked a few steps towards Esme’s rooms. “There’s a young woman in the café called Vicky Wendall. Have you heard of her?”
Adelaide shook her head, her mouth pulling down at the corners. “No. What’s this about?”
“She claims to be Fletcher’s girlfriend.”
Marjorie expected more tears but the young woman’s face hardened
like steel. “Oh, does she?” Adelaide pulled her arm free and strode towards the entrance. “We’ll see about that.”
Houdini crept outside, slinking through the entrance as Adelaide walked in. Marjorie scooped him up before he could run farther, holding him tightly while he protested his capture.
“I’ll just stash this kitten away,” she said, heading for the stairs. “So think about what you want to drink and I’ll put on a round of tea and coffee when I come back down.”
Adelaide and Vicky were in the middle of a staring war, seated opposite each other at the table. She didn’t think they’d heard a single thing and gave a sigh thinking of how awkward the next few minutes—or hours—would be.
“So much for a quiet night alone at home,” she muttered to Houdini as she walked over to the crate. If the Chartreux couldn’t learn to stay inside, she’d have to keep him contained for his own safety. However, when she fumbled the door open, Marjorie changed her mind.
The kitten’s face was so downcast, she couldn’t add to his burden by trapping him in a small cage. Of every kitten she’d had the pleasure of fostering, he was the one who most yearned to be free.
“Okay,” she said, closing the door again and setting the grey cat inside the playpen. “But no more escaping tonight, okay? Mummy needs a break.”
She stroked the kitten’s head, and his golden eyes glowed at her with brief contentment. When she took her hand away, he mewed in protest, starting up a chain reaction with the other residents.
“I have guests downstairs,” Marjorie explained to no avail. “I can’t just leave them alone.”
But she could. It wasn’t as though she’d invited them to be there.
Marjorie sat at the top of the stairs, Monkey Business finding her newly located lap with his powerful kitten radar. Although her mother would turn in her grave at the thought, she didn’t feel any twinges of guilt eavesdropping on the conversation.
When everyone downstairs had calmed down, walking back into their midst would be an option. Until then, she’d be a little pitcher with big ears.
Chartreux Shock Page 5
